


Drabble Collection

by TheHornedSerpent



Series: The Sword of the Morning [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BAMF Arya, Cannon related, Drabble Collection, Political Jon, R Plus L Equals J, Season 8 Fix It, Up until they attack Winterfell, bamf Sansa, season 8 fix-it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:00:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26629420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHornedSerpent/pseuds/TheHornedSerpent
Summary: This is a series of drabbles from The Sword of the Morning Universe that did not fit into the flow of the narrative.  They will mainly surround around various "ships", but will also include some pre- and post-story narratives.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Bronn/Original Female Character(s), Grey Worm/Missandei, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark/Jon Snow, Tyrion Lannister/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Sword of the Morning [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937224
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1. Bran Stark/The Three Eyed Raven: Littlefinger Must Die

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooooo everyone! So if you're coming from The Sword of the Morning, you might know that I've been intending to publish this drabble collection for a while. These can be read independently from the story (unless I specify otherwise), but knowing the full picture will definitely help you find the second layer hidden underneath each drabble. Hope you enjoy!

Both of Stark sisters were on their way to him, Sansa from her meeting with the Northern lords about glass gardens and Arya from the training yard where she had been teaching the younger children to fight. Their chance of betraying another was growing smaller by the day, even with Littlefinger, but it was still there. Sansa had seen Arya’s skill with Needle against Brienne of Tarth, but Arya had not yet seen what Sansa had learned.

It was one of the advantages to giving Arya the dagger. Bran Stark did not want them to see what he had, but ignorance could cost them everything. They had to give the sisters just enough information without revealing too much. They needed Littlefinger dead, and this way they could solidify the Starks together.

It was one of the reasons why the Three-Eyed Raven had chosen Bran Stark. The boy was in the perfect position to bring the Starks together to win both the wars.

Which was another reason why he needed Littlefinger gone. If left alive, he would do everything he could to make Jon and Sansa lose faith in one another. And it would only worsen when Jon returned with the dragon queen. Littlefinger needed to be gone before then, if the two were to work together to win the second war.

“Bran,” Sansa greeted, smiling softly as she came to a stop in front of him. It was nothing compared to the warmth she greeted him with as a girl, but they could see her always looking for signs of her brother in them.

But as she opened her mouth to continue, Arya silently appeared at his other side. “Oh, look, a family meeting,” she greeted dryly.

Sansa winced, never liking how their sister managed to sneak up on her so often. “Arya,” she huffed. But instead of complaining further, she squared her shoulders and turned back to Bran. “Who told our parents this blade belonged to Tyrion? Was it Littlefinger?”

They looked at her blankly. What was left of Bran was proud of her for finding the heart of it so quickly, but he couldn’t afford to feel emotions until they won, much less show them.

“He told our mother he lost it in a bet on the Mountain against the Knight of Flowers.”

“Even if that’s true, he sent the assassin,” Sansa said slowly, waiting for them to contradict her. They didn’t, so she continued on more confidently, “It was him who started our war with the Lannisters. He’s the reason our parents kidnapped Tyrion. He’s the reason Father was arrested.”

They knew she didn’t know their father had known nothing of their mother’s deeds. That Eddard Stark had lied to protect her without even thinking. Honor and duty had been everything to the man, but he was not afraid to lie to protect his family. He did it every day of his children’s lives to protect Jon. 

“He was made Master of Coin then, too,” Sansa said. For having such bright eyes, she was normally very talented at hiding her emotions. So wrapped up in the stories she was unravelling, she couldn’t hide the determination and even fear behind her expression. “Is that why? Did he betray Father?”

“He told Father that the Kingsguard would fight for him.”

“You’re being awfully forthcoming all of a sudden,” Arya said suddenly, stepping forward. “It’s almost as though you want us to kill him.”

“Jon almost killed him in the crypt when he told him he was in love with Sansa,” Bran said by way of explanation. It might’ve seemed blunt, but the words held another warning for Sansa. That he would figure out her feelings, if he hadn’t already. “It’s too dangerous.”

“If you’re sure,” Sansa said, eyeing him carefully. When he nodded, she took a deep breath before nodding. He knew it was difficult for her. Trusting him when she knew she didn’t know everything.

“The Vale will be furious that he pushed her through the Moon Door, but it’s not enough. He’ll be able to turn it back on me that I also lied to them for him,” Sansa continued. Despite her obvious reluctance to kill the man, they knew her eagerness for vengeance would outweigh any doubts. Another trait his sister’s shared. “They really only still called her their lady because of Robin. Even him they’ll only follow one day out of respect to Jon Arryn’s legacy.”

“The death that started it all,” Arya said grimly.

Sansa froze before looking to Bran, her question clear. At his small nod, she said quietly, “I should’ve realized as soon as I saw his hold over her. How did she do it?”

“Tears of Lys, I bet.” That was Arya. Yes, she knew her poisons well, too. “No color. No scent. No taste. _Expensive_.”

“If this is true, I have more than enough to win the Knights of the Vale,” Sansa said. She stepped forward and grabbed both of their hands, looking him in the eye. They knew she was looking for secrets there, but she would find none. “But Bran, please, with the Night King coming... are you sure it should be now? If we wait just until–”

“Sansa!” Arya snapped. She looked around quickly to check for ears in the trees, but no one was desecrating the Stark’s sacred place that morning. “He’s the reason for all of it. He’s the reason all of us are dead, and he’s walking around our home right now like we should thank him for being here!”

“I know that, Arya,” Sansa said, teeth clenching. It was a difficult relationship for her. She had known he was vile for more intimately than anyone else, and yet she had been dependent on him for so long. She was frightened she would misstep without him. “And I promise you that I will make him beg for his life. That I will humiliate him for thinking he was smart enough to get away with any of this with me. With us. For trying to turn me against you!”

“But I’m just not sure if it should happen _now_ ,” Sansa pressed, ignoring when her sister tried to respond. “It’s only that we’re about to go up against Cersei Lannister, the Night King _and_ Daenerys Targaryen – or have you forgotten? And I can control him. I know I can. He made the mistake of telling me what he wants more than anything. Him sitting on the Iron Throne and me at his side as his queen.”

Arya made a move for Needle as if Littlefinger would suddenly jump out from behind one of the trees, but her eyes were solely on their sister. “We won’t let that happen,” she said gravely. They were glad she was good at the Game of Faces. That even though she didn’t yet fully trust her sister, Arya could see in Sansa’s face and stance what was hidden to most. How afraid she was. “We’ll protect you. I promise you that.”

Sansa huffed. “What is it with Starks making promises you can’t keep?”

“If I know Jon, he won’t exactly be upset if he comes back to Littlefinger being gone. Bran even said he’s already tried to kill him once before. You won’t get in trouble–”

“I’m not worried about that – well, maybe about the Vale, but I’m more worried about if it’s the right time. I promise you that when the time comes – because it will – if you let me handle the trial, I’ll let you handle the execution. I’ll help you cross off every name on your list, but we have to play this game right. It’s not only about what move you take but _when_. If we don’t do these things at the right times, _we_ could be the ones losing our head. And once I lose his trust, it’s gone forever. When we kill him, we have to do it in one move. You’ve just heard what he’s capable of. We have to think this through.”

They could not tell her that they knew she was in love with Jon Snow, or he with she. They could not tell her how dangerous those feelings were, or how they would one day be the Seven Kingdom’s salvation. Those were conversations that needed to wait, at least until the Night King was dead. Too many players’ eyes would be on them soon. So, they had to use the lesser arguments.

“If we lose, Littlefinger has three dragons,” Arya said. 

Sansa turned to them. “You clearly know things about him that we don’t. I know you won’t tell me more than you need to, but just tell me, how much have you watched him?”

They watched him arrive in Riverrun, where his fixation on their mother started. They watched him duel and lose to their uncle Brandon. They watched him get his revenge when he lied about Lyanna Stark being kidnapped. They watched him comfort their mother for a death that he had sparked. They watched him climb the ladders of chaos he created with every breath he took.

“Enough to know,” they said.

Sansa took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring. She turned away from them to walk over to the window. The frost blurred their vision of the small courtyard below, but they knew it was crowded with the smallfolk bustling to the Great Hall for their ration of supper. Watching the world had always helped their sister both think and relax. Ever since King’s Landing when she had taken to watching the ships in hopes of learning their schedules. The Northern ships had stopped travelling to the port once the war began, but she studied the ones from both Riverrun and the Vale. She had even picked the one she would sneak onto with Shae. Figuring out how to escape the castle unnoticed was all that had been left when Olenna Tyrell and Littlefinger ruined her plans with the Purple Wedding. They wondered if she would have followed Dontos Hollard if she had known who he was working for.

Sansa finally turned back towards them. Her jaw flexed as she looked at them both, folding her hands in front of her. Her lip twisted into a cruel half-smile, as if she was privy to a private joke. It was the same smile they had seen when she’d fed Ramsay Bolton to his dogs.

“Very well. He’ll die before the sun sets tomorrow.”


	2. Arya: The Den of Wolves

The winds were colder this high up, and Arya realized why Bran had once been so fond of climbing. Why he now loved to live in the sky as a raven. The world looked different, and it was just as good as any shadow. From here, she could watch people who thought No One was looking. They were right.

Lord Royce was talking to Ser Barristan, both men grinning from ear to ear. Tyrion Lannister and Varys were talking as they watched the Targaryen queen’s army infest her home, the Imp’s fear visible even from up here.

Arya continued pushing her brother forward. Not many people knew about this particular walkway, and most that did were dead. Bran had found it in one of his many climbs, and he had shared it with her. So rarely did anyone think to look up, and Bran needed an extra set of eyes to watch and listen.

They walked along the roofs of one of the castle’s many hallways, the kennels on their right and the godswood on their left. According to Bran, there was a spot that would give them clear view of the weirwood tree. One step to the left or right, and it would be from view, but it was enough.

“Here,” Bran said, and she stopped instantly. “Sansa doesn’t like it when I watch.”

“She’ll get over it,” Arya said, maneuvering him where the wall was taller to hide him from the wind. Another perk to them both being so small was even if someone did look up, they would still be hidden.

Arya had been trying to understand Sansa and Jon’s relationship since she had come back to Winterfell, but gone was her sister who wore her heart on her sleeve. She hadn’t heard her call him half-brother since they had reunited, but she hadn’t heard her call him brother, either. Only that he was family. Only that he was a Stark. She didn’t know the significance of her wording, only that it _was_ significant.

Whispers in the castle told her that they moved as one. They were seen together more often than not, but even when they weren’t Ghost walked with her. Arya had seen that for herself, Jon’s white direwolf acting as though he was one of her sworn swords. She had thought that was because Jon feared for her while he was gone, until she had learned it had been like that since they’d reunited at Castle Black.

Arya watched both of her siblings standing closely in front of the heart tree. The black of their clothing helped her to see when Sansa’s shoulders rose and fell in likely anger, and she only hoped her sister left some of the argument for when they were all together. She needed to yell at him, too, and she’d prefer to do that with Sansa on her side. Luckily, she knew there was a lot of anger to give.

She was only proven correct when Jon spun away, his head low like a wounded puppy. The way Sansa turned him back forward gently spoke of an intimacy she wasn’t expecting, and she cursed her brother’s robe for blocking her view if they still held one another.

Jon had always shown his love with physical affection. Ruffling her hair. Hugging her. Putting her on his shoulders, even. But never with Sansa. Never with anyone but her.

Sansa turned them back towards the exit, and she watched them walk arm and arm until they disappeared from view.

Seeing no point in lingering further, Arya pushed Bran to the Great Keep. Although all that they passed stopped to step out of their way, not standing up from their bows until the pair had passed, she knew it was different than the reverence they showed both Sansa. She squashed any jealousy that threatened to take over. Her sister had won their home back from the traitorous Boltons with their brother’s help. They owed her. They didn’t yet owe Arya, not really.

Arya pushed them into her chambers, same as the ones she grew up in with Sansa. She didn’t stop, pushing Bran to the side as she opened the room’s secret passageway. The hallway connected every Stark room, a secret that no one but the living Starks knew existed. She didn’t bother lighting a torch, more comfortable in the dark than she was the light. When she pushed open the passageway to Sansa’s rooms, they both found it empty. After pushing Bran up by the hearth, she moved to drag the chair from behind her sister’s desk – the one that was once their father’s – to sit beside the other three. No sooner had she finished than the door opened to reveal her last two surviving siblings.

Jon’s grin at seeing her nearly melted the ice that had formed there when she’d seen him with his new queen. She ran to him, jumping into his arms. He held onto her tightly, one hand combing through her hair as they breathed each other in.

When he put her down, his eyes fell to her hip. Knowing what he was looking at, she unsheathed out Needle, balancing it on but two fingers of both hands. He grabbed it, a half-smile-half-grimace that reminded her so much of their father.

“Needle,” Arya said softly, thinking back to when he had gifted it to her so many years ago. So much had happened since then. Would he love the woman she had become same as he had the girl he once had? From what Sansa had told her, he was as pure as he’d always been, despite the blood that had been spilled at his hand. What would he say if he knew how she was more sword than human? If he found out how she had slaughtered all the men of House Frey and would do so again in a heartbeat?

“Have you ever used it?” he asked as he handed it back again, the innocence of the question again reminding her again how he would likely despise who she was now.

“Once or twice,” she said as she re-sheathed her sword.

He then followed her own gaze to the sword that lay at his own hip, the white wolf of the hip making her smile. Taking her own silent question, he pulled out the sword. She held it carefully, the sword heavy but balanced in her hands.

“Valyrian steel.”

“Jealous?” he asked, his half-smile turning into more of a smirk.

“Too heavy for me,” Arya said simply as she handed him back his sword. Only when the greatsword was back at his hip did she realize how neither he nor she had acknowledged their other two siblings. She stepped away from him, then, taking her place at their father’s desk chair. 

The rest took their places in their own chairs, and she realized how Jon and Sansa’s were positioned so that they were almost facing one another. Their knees were even brushing. Was that how their parents had left them, or had her siblings moved it like that? Sansa frowned when she realized how she was facing away from both Bran and Arya. When she stood back up, so did Jon, adjusting her chair for her as Sansa watched with a soft smile. There was something intimate about the way they watched one another. She couldn’t quite place the look, but it made her frown. Either because she had never liked competing with Sansa or because she had thought her sister would stand behind her and Bran when telling Jon how stupid he had been in falling and bending for the dragon queen, she wasn’t sure.

“I know I have a lot to explain,” Jon said once they were both seated again, making her snort despite herself. He scraped his hand through his beard, glancing at Sansa again. Her looked seemed to give him strength to continue. Interesting. If these were not her siblings, she would want to play the Game of Faces, get to the bottom of this. But she would trust them. Starks were the only people she could. If she didn’t trust them, she had no one left. “I’ve already told Sansa the truth, but I know… I need to explain to you both, too. Daenerys… I’m not in love with her. I only… she sent me a note inviting her to her rooms. She had already pledged her people to fighting against the dead, but I knew as soon as she came here and saw for true how the North would never bow to her, that nothing would keep her here, so I accepted her invitation.”

“But you will soon,” Arya said, making all eyes whip to her. “Love her. She is a beautiful woman. She is charismatic. She will be a queen. Do you really mean to tell us that you won’t one day think yourself more loyal to her than your family hundreds of miles away?”

Jon’s face was red, his chest obviously rising and falling. He was clearly offended by her question, a good sign. Not defensive, but offensive.

“Jon cannot fall in love with Daenerys,” Bran said, surprising them all. His voice was as monotonous as always, giving away nothing.

But Arya Stark was not as unobservant as the brazen girl she once was. She knew better than to focus all of her attention on one person. It was why she didn’t miss Jon’s expression. Where she would’ve thought previously that their brother coming to his defense would’ve calmed him, she instead saw an unexpected feeling, however brief. Guilt. But what did it mean?

“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” Sansa said, quoting their father to them. She used to think her more like their mother than father, and the way she operated might’ve made her father cringe. But Arya didn’t care about any of that. She knew now that her sister would protect their family. That was all that mattered. “Jon has prepared us for the battle against the dead. We must now do all of our parts to prepare for all wars to come. Bran tells me that the Spider’s information is outdated when it comes to me, only knowing that Jon and I worked well together when winning back the North and that I led the trial against Littlefinger. He knows that Arya went east to the House of Black and White, but believes the stories to be just that. He knows least about Bran.”

“The House of Black and White?” Jon asked, looking to her with scrunched brows.

“I was sharpened into a weapon. They taught me how to fight and how to stay hidden in the shadows,” Arya said. She knew that both of their other siblings already knew almost everything. She had told Sansa how she had killed House Frey and had showed her how she could change faces like she changed clothes. Bran saw more than either of them were comfortable with, and despite fearing much of anything, she didn’t want to know how much he knew.

“You might’ve bent the knee, but you are still a king,” Sansa said. She glanced at both Arya and Bran in turn, before looking back to Jon. She could see very little expression from her sister, so she turned to their brother. She studied the way that he was transfixed by her. She wasn’t sure if that was just because Sansa was the woman she was, or if there was something more. If it was because they had only each other to lean on when they were fighting for Winterfell, or if there was more for her to see. “And I would think Arya somewhere between your Master of War and Master of Whisperers. If Bran wouldn’t take the latter of the positions. We only need a Master of Coin, Law, and Ships, and we’d be as a southern small counsil.”

Arya spat into the fire, despite her words of praise of Arya as not one but two Masters, earning the chuckle of Jon. “We don’t need the shit that clogs the south.”

“No, but it wouldn’t hurt to give our lords and ladies positions that they see as a reward. Nor would it hurt to have others, Northerners that we can trust, help us to take care of our people,” Sansa said. She spoke firmly but softly, somehow balancing being the lady she had known in their youths with someone much harsher, colder. The woman the men since their parting in King’s Landing had made was someone more ruthless, more cold. Someone all wolf. “As much as we would like to only trust the Starks with the North, that is not viable in the long-run. Nor is it smart. The lords and ladies of the south wouldn’t be worthy to kiss the straps of the ones here in the North, but that doesn’t mean our men and woman aren’t just as greedy. It doesn’t mean that if we won’t reward the loyal that they will stay that way.”

“I trust you,” Arya said, noting how Jon’s eyes flickered between them both. He was likely confused by their discussion being just that instead of an argument. “If you think we need a council, so be it. But we need to agree on the chosen as a family.”

“Aye, we do,” Jon said. He looked at her, looking so much like her father that a lesser woman might’ve cried. “The North remembers. We will show these queens from the south that the North is independent not just by claim but by right. We will show them that we are better than the monsters to the north and the south. We will end the house that stole our father’s sister, raped her, and killed her. We will show the North that they were not fools to put their faith in the Stark. We will show them that our house will endure, as we always have.”

 _We will do a great more than that_ , Arya thought, doing her best to hide her grin at her brother’s promise of vengeance. _We will rip out our enemies, root and stem. We will kill all those who have wronged our house, and make sure the rest know what happens to those who wish to stab our family in our backs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So their reunion is different than in the show-cannon, but let's be real... their reunion was such a letdown. Even with me clearly being a Jonsa fan, the fact that the Jon/Sansa reunion hit me harder than the Jon/Arya reunion just tells you how much D&D failed...


End file.
